


Just a Toy

by wheel_pen



Series: Miscellaneous Vampire Diaries Stories [2]
Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Creative Companions, Daisy (wheel_pen), F/M, Shoshana (wheel_pen)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3408596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stefan, Damon, Elena, and Shoshana (from my series “Shoshana”) are sent to our dimension for a mysterious purpose, which so far involves a lot of shopping in New York City. This story is unfinished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Toy

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things. I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate being able to play in this universe.

Damon did not like the look of the man at the desk. It was not accommodating. It was a look that judged him and found him wanting. “Is Daisy home? I’d like to see her.”

“Do you have an appointment?” the man asked coolly, without moving a muscle.

“No.” The man raised an eyebrow fractionally, as if adding one more to his daily count of morons. Damon’s temper flared. “It’ll just take a minute, we’re friends—“ He didn’t feel like going into detail and suspected it wouldn’t help anyway. “Just ask if she’ll see me. Damon Salvatore.” The man frowned then and reached for his appointment book, not the phone. “I told you I don’t—“ Damon began angrily.

“Damon Salvatore, three-seventeen PM,” the man read from the book. They both glanced at the clock on the wall, which read exactly that time.

Damon’s smugness was neatly canceled out by his feeling of being cosmically stage-managed. “Bet that happens a lot, huh?” he suggested.

The man shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Down the hall,” he directed, finding Damon no longer worth his interest.

“I _know_.” Damon had strutted through these bland hallways many times, back when the secretary was good-looking and kinda gave a c—p. He opened the apartment door without knocking—he was _expected_ , after all—and said loudly, without being fully inside, “Is it so hard to find good help these days?”

Daisy set aside the newspaper she was reading and rose to greet him with a smile. “It _is_ , rather,” she admitted in a more normal tone, once the door was closed, kissing him on the cheek, “when they know it’s only a temporary position. I’ll be moving soon.”

“To where?” Damon demanded in surprise, momentarily setting aside his main inquiry. Daisy gave him a significant look. “ _New York?!_ ” he sputtered.

“Are you dismayed?” she asked with distant curiosity, as if it didn’t really matter that much. She moved to her desk, behind her computer. “It won’t be for a while yet. The Senate has to deliberate.”

“You’re the Oracle,” he pointed out unnecessarily. “I can’t believe they’d let you leave. On the other hand,” he admitted, “it would be stupid to oppose you if you wanted to go.”

Daisy’s look indicated she agreed with this. “I feel I would be a greater asset in New York at this point,” she said diplomatically. Her tone was dismissive, though, and she gestured for Damon to take the chair in front of the desk. “I’m impressed _you_ were given clearance,” she told him, with sincerity.

“Stefan knows how to spin things,” he claimed.

She began to click her mouse while gazing at the computer screen. “And if you’re going to New York, you’ll need companions,” she segued.

“Exactly,” Damon agreed, bringing the conversation back to his main point.

“Creative or muse?” Daisy queried.

“Please,” Damon scoffed, assuming that was a joke.

Daisy glanced at him. “I think you and Stefan are more creative than you give yourselves credit for.”

Damon didn’t know what to make of _that_ statement. “I’m not going to New York to paint uplifting murals,” he pointed out, his tone suggesting this was an unworthy endeavor.

Daisy smirked a bit. “Female?”

“It would be easier.”

“Out of school?” she assumed.

Damon shrugged. “As long as they’re not _too_ young,” he countered. “A couple years would be okay.”

Daisy gave him a look, then shook her head slightly. “You wouldn’t have the patience for schooling,” she judged. “Besides, they’re moving away from that.” Damon rolled his eyes but accepted her opinion. “What kind of creative gift did you have in mind?” she went on. “Writing, visual arts, music—“

“I could’ve sat with a consultant at the Residence,” Damon interrupted disdainfully, “if I’d wanted to fill out a questionnaire. Can’t you just read some chicken entrails and tell me who I should go for?”

“You place too much faith in chicken entrails,” Daisy replied dryly. She clicked several more times on her own, however. “Have you looked through the list yourself?” she asked, more casually. “Did anyone stand out for you?”

“Everyone,” he admitted, “for the first few pages. Then they all started to blend together.” Daisy nodded knowingly. “Why are the pictures so unflattering?” he wanted to know. He wasn’t good at sitting quietly. “In the ads the girls are good-looking.”

“Expectation management,” Daisy told him confidently. She appeared to be scrolling through possible matches but prevented Damon from seeing them. “They started with _no_ pictures, but they found the sponsors were sometimes disappointed when reality didn’t match their imaginations.”

“So now they have _ugly_ pictures?” Clearly Damon wasn’t following their logic.

“Oh, I think they’re going more for _plain_ than ugly,” Daisy commented.

She clicked a few more times. “Are you choosing girls for me and Stefan to meet at the cotillion?” Damon pressed impatiently.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Well, don’t I get a _say_?”

Daisy glanced at him. “It’s hard to win with you, isn’t it?” she observed, without rancor. “You need someone who can handle that.” She went back to clicking and scrolling. “I’ll send you the list, so you can examine examples of their creative work beforehand.”

Damon wasn’t sure he was looking forward to that. Everyone said the companions were talented—but there was _talented_ , and then there was _enjoyable_. He was content to feed off their creative energy without necessarily experiencing the creative content.

“Do you think,” he began with unusual hesitation, “you can find two girls who work for _both_ me and Stefan?”

“That’s a curious request,” Daisy said, pausing to consider as though it were of great importance.

“Well, in case I get bored with one girl, I can switch to the other,” he claimed crudely, trying to make light of it.

Daisy was not fooled, however, and she scrolled through the possibilities with renewed vigor. “Hmm,” she said occasionally, which drove Damon crazy. After several minutes she slowed, scrolled back up and then down again, thought a moment, then hit a button on the keyboard with finality.

“ _Well_?” Damon prompted.

“I’ve sent a shortlist to you and Stefan, and to the Residence,” she told him. “You’ll be introduced to all the girls on it at the cotillion.”

“How many are we talking about?”

“About ten between the two of you.”

Damon was disappointed. “I hoped you would narrow it down more,” he admitted.

“Well, I have my suspicions about who would be best,” she assured him, “but I don’t want to influence you unduly.”

Damon blinked at her. “That’s what I’m _here_ for!” He’d thought that was obvious.

Daisy gave him a maddening smirk. “I don’t think Stefan will have much trouble,” she predicted. “You’ll both be drawn to the same person right away. You should let her go with Stefan, though.”

“And the other one?” he pressed.

Daisy seemed to be thinking of a way to hint, cleverly. Damon didn’t really care for clever hints. He liked to know things straight out. “You should look for a girl whose name is a flower,” Daisy finally told him.

“Well there’s a coincidence,” he replied flatly. Still, as clever hints went, it wasn’t too bad.

She clicked a few things on the computer, closing windows, and stood up. He stood as well, realizing the visit was over. The thought disappointed him slightly. “I’m glad to see you, Damon,” she said, sounding genuine and even slightly surprised.

“Yeah, you too,” he agreed. “Will I see you in New York?” he added with a touch of hope as she ushered him to the door.

She smiled as if she knew his game, which even _he_ didn’t. “I think you’ll be too busy.”

He took one last glance around the tiny apartment, his gaze lingering on the bed half-hidden by a wooden screen. “You should hold out for a better apartment,” he advised cheekily, opening the door.

“Oh I will,” she promised him, in a tone that boded ill for some future real estate agent.

Standing in the hall, he wasn’t sure what else needed to be said. “Well… see you, Daisy.” And with that he left, past the bored secretary, out into the street. Once he got home he’d go over the list with Stefan—they wouldn’t learn the girls’ names until the cotillion, though. Maybe Daisy’s hint was trickier than he’d thought.

 

**

 

            There was no one around to see their appearance in Central Park at midnight—but that was the point. Instinctively they reached for each other, making sure everyone had arrived, that their meager belongings were accounted for. “Everyone okay?” Damon checked.

            “Fine,” Stefan assured him.

            “It’s awfully dark,” Shoshana noted, looking around nervously.

            “It gets that way at night,” Damon deadpanned.

            “And cold,” Elena added, rubbing her arms.

            Immediately Stefan started to unzip my jacket. “Here, take—“

            “Don’t give her your jacket,” Damon scoffed, stopping him. “We’re not refugees. Let’s get out of here.” He grabbed Shoshana’s hand and pulled her towards the path lit by bluish lampposts. Rolling his eyes at Damon, Stefan held out his hand for Elena and she took it with a little smile. The two of them followed Damon out of the brush and onto the path.

            “You know where we’re going, right?” Stefan needled his brother.

            “Of course,” Damon replied, glancing around. “This way,” he finally decided, moving along the path. “I can hear the traffic.”

            Even at this late hour the city was bustling, with cars streaming past them on the street and lights blazing from the buildings surrounding the park. The natural space behind them was serene and inviting by comparison, but not really a place they wanted to spend the night. “See, there’s the statue of the guy on the horse,” Damon noted, pointing across the street. “And there’s the fountain. We’re fine.”

            “Is that our hotel over there?” Elena wondered hopefully, gazing at the imposing blue-roofed edifice nearby.

            “No, that’s the Plaza,” Damon corrected, trying to hail a taxi. This was made difficult by Shoshana, who clung to his hand but didn’t want to get too close to the street with its rushing traffic. “The Mandarin Oriental is only a few blocks away, I guess we could walk. Could you just—“ He growled slightly and tried to swallow his frustration with Shoshana, who blinked back at him. He didn’t really want to let go of her, either, but her tether was impeding his progress.

            “There’s someone coming,” Elena alerted them under her breath. A lone figure sauntered down the sidewalk, the orange glow of his cigarette tip competing with the headlights and streetlights. As they watched he nonchalantly tossed the cigarette aside into the street.

            “Don’t worry about him,” Damon dismissed with annoyance.

            Stefan put his arm around Elena and pulled her closer. “It’s alright, he won’t bother us,” he assured her in a kinder tone.

            “Finally,” Damon grumbled as a cab slid over to the curb near them. Stefan opened the back door and let the girls climb in first, then squeezed in beside them while Damon took the front seat. “Mandarin Oriental,” he told the driver as the meter clicked.

            “Don’t get too many pick-ups here this time of night,” the cabbie commented in a thick Jamaican accent. “You at a show in the Park or something?”

            “No, we materialized in the Park from another dimension,” Damon replied flatly, and the man laughed.

            “Yeah, I had days like that, mon,” he agreed.

            After only a few minutes of watching the garish, chaotic lights flash past, the cabbie spun into a circle drive with a large statue in the center, stopping near a modest building entrance marked with the hotel’s name. A uniformed bellhop hurried over to open the doors. “Welcome to the Mandarin Oriental, sir, ma’am,” he greeted eagerly. “Can I get your luggage?”

            “No luggage,” Stefan assured him, handing the girls out of the cab while Damon paid the driver. He gave a generous tip, not because he was a particularly generous person, but because it was one of the tenets that had been drilled into them before they left—always tip big, preferably in cash.

            The bellhop escorted them into a small lobby that existed primarily for a bank of elevators. “Right this way to the main lobby,” he instructed efficiently. “It’s on the thirty-fifth floor.” He stepped into the elevator with them, leaving guard duty to his equally bored compatriot at the desk.

            It was a long ride up to the thirty-fifth floor. “Are you in New York on business or pleasure?” the bellhop chit-chatted.

            Damon let Stefan handle this; he had little patience for small talk and barely restrained himself from sighing loudly. “We’re looking for an apartment in the city,” Stefan explained in a friendly way, “with a view of the Park.”

            “Ah,” the man answered knowingly, though Damon doubted he knew anything at all. “There are some beautiful ones out there. And the Park is a great place to go, year-round. Where are you from?”

            “Most recently Paris, but originally Virginia.”

            “Beautiful countryside,” the bellhop commented. “I have some relatives in D.C..”

            Now Damon leaned back against the elevator wall and didn’t care if his sigh was a little loud. Stefan smoothly covered it by asking their guide for his opinion on local restaurants. Shoshana wrapped her arms more completely around Damon and closed her eyes, confident in his ability to get her safely to bed. After all the preparations and anticipation they were all worn out, and their task here—sometimes monumental in the number of details required—had barely begun.

            Finally the elevator slowed and stopped, opening onto a lobby of opulence and grandeur more in line with what they had expected. The marble flooring radiated out from a central point with light and dark beams, so shiny it was almost blinding under the multitude of lights that glowed around the edges of the ceiling. Tastefully forgettable chairs, a little bit modern and a little bit beige, were grouped in a lounge area looking out over the lights of the city, the sky midnight blue in the background. To one side a few patrons sat at a bar under incongruously dim lighting, occasionally laughing too loudly as they sipped martinis.

            The girls seemed duly impressed, which made Damon want to scoff at it, contrarily. “Right this way,” the bellhop directed unnecessarily, leading them towards the service desk, where a smartly-dressed young woman awaited. Apparently they were not to take one step in the hotel without supervision, Damon surmised. He let Stefan decide whether to tip the bellhop for pushing the elevator button for him—he probably would—and instead focused on his list of check-in details.

            “Welcome to the Mandarin Oriental,” the woman greeted. “How can I help you, sir?”

            “Checking in, Salvatore,” Damon informed her, pulling his ID and credit card from his pocket. “The Presidential Suite.” It was a little ostentatious, but it was also the only suite in the hotel with two bedrooms _and_ a kitchen, which would be useful if they ended up staying a while.

            Stefan pointed out a plate of complimentary cookies to the girls, effectively distracting them from waiting boredly at the counter with Damon. Which left only _Damon_ waiting boredly as the woman tapped at her computer. The main sculpture in the center of the lobby, he decided, looked like a bunch of glass swans that had been executed, their heads clustered together in the grass as a warning to other potentially rebellious waterfowl.

            “And how many room keys would you like, Mr. Salvatore?” the woman asked. Her name, according to her name badge, was Ngomi.

            “Four. The airline lost our luggage,” he went on, according to their pre-established story. “Anywhere we can get a toothbrush this time of night?”

            “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” Ngomi replied. Her voice held the sort of professional-level sympathy that came with a high salary and decent benefits, night shift or not. “We have complimentary toiletries available, and the Whole Foods store downstairs opens at nine AM.”

            “Great, let’s start there.” Ngomi pulled four ridiculously well-made little shopping bags from beneath the counter, each emblazoned with the hotel’s logo and ‘Complimentary Toiletries Kit’ in gold script. Classy. “Is your kitchen still open?” he probed, watching Stefan now try to herd the girls _away_ from the cookies. “Can we get some room service?”

            “Of course, Mr. Salvatore.” He expected nothing less in the Presidential Suite, really. She opened a brochure for him on the counter. “Here’s the menu for Asiate, our fine-dining establishment.” He wondered how many times employees were required to practice saying, ‘our fine-dining establishment.’ Probably until they could say it without snickering.

            He didn’t think the girls would be too picky about their food right now. “Something fast,” he told Ngomi, who nodded with deep understanding. “A fruit basket, some pastries, a pitcher of milk.”

            “We have whole milk, 2%, skim, chocolate, and soy readily available,” Ngomi informed him promptly.

            “Two percent,” Damon clarified, without much thought. “I’ll order breakfast for tomorrow morning while I’m here,” he went on, marking the items with a hotel-branded pen. He tried not to spend much time thinking about them, but the descriptions were making him hungry as well. A Belgian waffle with berries, vanilla whipped cream, and Vermont maple syrup for Shoshana. The slightly more sophisticated lemon crêpe soufflé with crème fraîche, raspberries, and powdered sugar for Elena. Whole wheat pancakes and an egg white frittata for him and Stefan. Plus some turkey bacon and chilled papaya with mango, kiwi, and strawberry slices. And juice, coffee, tea, and the smoothie of the day, with soy milk and lavender honey.

            That should tide the girls over for a few hours.

            “Breakfast at seven AM,” he ordered. “Can I get the _Wall Street Journal_ and _USA Today_ with breakfast?” He didn’t wait for the obvious answer. “Do you have any info about the shops downstairs?”

            “Of course, sir.” He could get used to hearing that, he decided, trading his marked-up menu for a brochure about the Shops at Columbus Circle directly below them. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Salvatore?”

            “If we do some shopping tomorrow, can we have things delivered from the stores to our room?”

            “Of course, sir, if the store delivers it to the lobby downstairs, we’ll have it brought up and placed in your room,” Ngomi assured him.

            That was all Damon could think of at the moment and he signaled to Stefan to round the girls up. “Did you see, they have cookies!” Shoshana exalted when she reached him. She had chocolate smeared above her lip.

            “Can we stop and eat something else?” Elena asked more sensibly, glancing towards the appetizers being consumed at the bar.

            “I ordered room service,” Damon countered. “Here.” He shoved the toiletries bags at them, making Stefan carry his as they headed for the elevators. “No thanks, we’ll figure it out ourselves,” he told the bellhop who moved to accompany them.

            “Ooh, I got a toothbrush and toothpaste and deodorant—“ Shoshana began to list, digging into her bag.

            “Shaving cream, razor, comb—“ added Elena as the elevator rose.

            This left Stefan to pull out the remaining item, a feminine hygiene product. Disappointingly for Damon, he was too mature to be embarrassed about it. The girls tittering didn’t really count, he felt.

            The second elevator ride was almost as long as the first and Damon began to regret getting the suite on the fifty-third floor. He would have to keep his impatience in mind when they were looking for apartments later. “So, tomorrow,” he began into the silence, “I’ve got breakfast coming at seven. The mall downstairs opens at nine.” He handed the brochure to Elena. “I thought we could buy some clothes, then hit Whole Foods for some food and miscellaneous stuff.”

            “Oh, there’s a Borders,” Elena observed eagerly. “We should go there and get some books.”

            “Where can we get paper and pens?” Shoshana wanted to know, crowding around the brochure.

            Damon and Stefan exchanged looks in the background. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of that,” Stefan replied blandly.

            “Stefan and I will have a lot to do, finding an apartment and everything,” Damon warned in a slightly patronizing tone as the elevator slowed. “I hope you girls will be okay in the room by yourselves.”

            They stepped out into the spacious, well-lit hallway—someone could practically just live _there_ —and headed for the room marked ‘Presidential Suite’ with a little plaque on the door. They definitely didn’t get luxury like this back home, Damon reflected. He slipped his card into the slot and opened the door, reaching in to flip on the lights.

            “I think we’ll be okay here,” Elena responded flatly.

            The four of them dispersed to examine the suite, which was over 2600 square feet in size. Which was a lot. Damon and thus Shoshana got the main bedroom, of course. That was only fair, since he was the elder and _completely in charge of everything_ (this last part was open to interpretation, but Stefan wasn’t demanding). He had a feeling he didn’t really appreciate all the little luxuries of the place, however, such as the silk upholstery on the walls in the master bedroom, the Mozambique wood-paneled study, and the honey onyx walls of the master bathroom. Hmm, now that he thought of it, they’d spent a lot of time putting fancy things on the walls, when he assumed less fancy things held up the ceiling just as well. But then again, that’s why he was here: ridiculous luxury. The sixty-five-inch plasma TV and steam shower built for two were more of interest to him.

            “We should try this out,” he suggested to Shoshana innocently as he stared at the huge glass-enclosed chamber.

            “I want to soak in the big tub!” she decided excitedly, practically tumbling into it.

            “You could _sleep_ in the big tub,” he observed of it. “Or that chair,” he added, indicating an overstuffed chair and ottoman _in the bathroom_. “Or even the shower stall.” It was certainly big enough.

            Shoshana gave him an uncertain look. “I don’t have to, though, do I?” she checked.

            “No,” he assured her slowly. Then, to distract her, “Look, a TV!” He swung the flat panel TV away from the wall and pointed it at her.

            “Ooh! I can watch TV while I soak in the big tub!” she enthused, poking at it.

            “Stefan, do you have ridiculously massive bathroom facilities?” Damon wanted to know, wandering back out into the living room.

            “Not ridiculously massive,” Stefan judged, joining him, “but very nice.”

            There was a knock at the door and Damon let Stefan attend to the room service while he took stock of the gourmet kitchen. “You can cook whatever you want in here,” he pointed out to Shoshana, who trailed behind him.

            She seemed suddenly distressed, though he could think of no rational reason for it. “I want to take a shower!” she blurted.

            “Well, do it, then.”

            “But I haven’t got any clean clothes to change into,” she added anxiously, tugging at the sleeves of her pink hoodie.

            Elena stuck her head into the kitchen area. “Shoshana, you took a shower right before we left,” she reminded her, trying to keep her tone kind. “We’ll get new clothes tomorrow, it’ll be fine.”

            “There, listen to your playmate,” Damon agreed. Elena narrowed her eyes at the term.

            “I’ll be all dirty and greasy!” Shoshana protested, unplacated. A whine began to form at the edge of her tone and her eyes started to moisten.

            Damon could see it was time to exercise his authority. “Elena, go have something to eat,” he told her, and she left reluctantly. It might have been easier to let Elena deal with the other girl, but as cavalier as Damon often acted, he did understand she was now his responsibility. He had to learn to manage her. “Come here,” he told Shoshana, putting his arms around her. She pressed her face against his leather jacket and he tried not to think about what was being deposited on it.

            “I’m sorry,” she told him in a small voice, clutching at him.

            “It’s okay, you’re just tired,” he said in a voice that was meant to be soothing. “You’ll feel better after you’ve eaten and gotten some sleep.”

            “But I usually shower right before bed,” Shoshana told him miserably.

            Damon tried to avoid sighing. Okay, she was a little high-strung. This was not exactly a surprise to him. He knew that her talent was supposed to balance this out, once she got settled. But she definitely wasn’t settled yet.

            Fortunately Damon had an idea. He pulled away from Shoshana slightly, enough to leaf through the hotel directory posted next to the kitchen phone. “They have a twenty-four-hour laundry service,” he noted. “You could change into one of those fluffy robes in the bathroom, and by the time you were done eating and showering, your clothes would be back.”

            She wrinkled her nose. “I’d have to sleep in my clothes?”

            There were limits to his patience. “Let’s not get picky, honey, at least you’d have clean underwear.”

            Shoshana threw her arms around him. “You’re right! It’s a wonderful idea.”

            “I thought so,” he agreed. “Why don’t you go see if anyone else wants to do it, too?”

            Elena, it turned out, also wanted to have her clothes laundered, even though she usually showered in the morning. Damon suspected she was just as high-strung as Shoshana, only better at hiding it. He and Stefan could live with the dirt until the next day.

            “Just a guy thing?” Stefan queried idly. He nibbled on a kiwi slice while the girls changed into their robes; it was really too late for the two of them to be eating, but the girls needed more food than they did.

            “I dunno, you might start to cry in the morning when you see how flat your hair’s gone,” Damon teased, picking at a danish.

            Stefan ignored the jibe and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “What are we going to do about the books and paper?” he asked, a bit furtively.

            “I’ve got a couple newspapers coming with breakfast,” Damon told him. Stefan’s look said this might not be sufficient. “Well, we can’t let them go into Borders, they’ll get over-stimulated and flip out,” he reminded his brother. “We’ll send them back to the room for the afternoon, and _we’ll_ go.”

            “They usually have pens and notebooks at Borders,” Stefan noted thoughtfully.

            “And there’s a Staples around here, we’ll hit that the next day,” Damon decided. “Or maybe even later today, we need to pick up some cell phones and computers. They’ll like the computers.”

            They stopped talking as Shoshana reappeared, barefoot and dressed in a fluffy white robe emblazoned with the hotel logo. She carried a plastic bag before her. “Here’s our clothes!” she announced cheerfully.

            There was a knock at the door right on cue and Damon took the bag from her, answering the door while Shoshana sat down and started eating. “He says it’ll be done in an hour,” he relayed as he returned to the table. “Hardly any time at all.”

            Shoshana smeared butter on a croissant, unleashing a mess of flakes. “I’m going to take a shower in that big shower stall,” she planned. “ _Then_ I’m going to take a bath!”

            Elena returned to the table, also wearing a robe, and resumed eating her cinnamon bun. “This suite is very nice,” she commented to them encouragingly. “It’s almost like being in a home. A very nice home.”

            “ _So_ much nicer than the Residence,” Shoshana declared, blowing powdered sugar everywhere from her toast.

            “Oh?” Damon asked mildly. “How so?” His manner was casual but his eyes sharp and Stefan glanced at him warningly.

            Shoshana started to speak but Elena cut her off. “Oh, it’s fine,” she deflected. “Just kind of—institutional. Bland. Could I have an orange, please?”

            Damon rolled his eyes at her reticence and handed her the fruit bowl. Shoshana did not seem chagrined by her indiscreet behavior, but she didn’t continue speaking either. “So, do you know where you want to go shopping in the morning?” Stefan asked in an upbeat tone.

            “I think Armani Exchange would be a good start,” Elena replied, determination in her voice. She had clearly been giving this some thought. “They have men’s clothing, too, according to the brochure.” She was peeling her orange meticulously, removing every bit of the bitter white part. “We might have to go somewhere else for socks and underwear. Sometimes fashion stores don’t carry those.”

            “Oh, what do you need underwear for?” Damon teased naughtily, feeding Shoshana a grape. She giggled in response.

            Elena ignored him in favor of Stefan, who seemed to be listening closely to her. “I also thought we could go to Coach and get a couple of purses and wallets. Just so we don’t have to carry things in our pockets.”

            “I love leather,” Shoshana declared, slurping her milk.

            “Me too,” Damon enthused, indicating the jacket he still wore.

            “I want to get a pink leather purse,” she wished happily.

            “Maybe I’ll get some new jackets,” he mused.

            “Cows must live in terror of you,” Stefan said dryly, and Elena snickered.

            “As well they should,” Damon agreed shamelessly. “I like steak, too.”

            Finally, after consuming almost all of the available food, the girls began to slow down. “I’m gonna go take my shower,” Shoshana insisted sleepily.

            “I think I’ll just go to bed, and take a shower in the morning,” Elena countered, cracking a huge yawn.

            This made Shoshana yawn as well. “That sounds nice,” she agreed. “Maybe I’ll do that, too.”

            “Hey now!” Damon interjected indignantly. “You were just saying you felt dirty and greasy!”

            “Well, I can get clean in the morning,” Shoshana pointed out. “When I have clean clothes to put on.”

            “You’ll have—“ Damon began to protest, but Stefan just shook his head and stood up.

            “Goodnight, Shoshana,” he said, kissing her slightly sticky cheek. “Elena.”

            “Goodnight, Stefan,” they murmured. “Goodnight, Damon.” Shoshana gave him a hug. Then both girls wandered off towards the master bedroom.

            “And they’re—“ Damon started to complain, but Stefan cut him off again with a look. “Well, they don’t make any sense,” Damon grumbled once they were gone.

            “Yes, you’re a paragon of logic,” Stefan commented. “Come on, let’s go watch TV in the other bedroom where we won’t bother them.”

            Damon readily abandoned the dirty dishes on the table. “They need to do something creative soon,” he judged, following Stefan into the second, smaller bedroom. “I’m feeling kind of tired.”

            “Long day,” Stefan shrugged, kicking off his shoes and flopping down on the bed.

            “Longer tomorrow,” Damon predicted, doing the same. He carefully hung his jacket up first, though. “Armani Exchange, Coach, Whole Foods, then we bring them back here.”

            “Don’t forget underwear,” Stefan reminded him with a smirk, and Damon rolled his eyes.

            “Give me the remote,” he demanded.

            “No,” Stefan countered, holding it away from him. “Leave it on Headline News.”

            “I want something local,” Damon insisted contrarily.

            Stefan glanced around, then handed his brother a different remote control. “Find a local radio station,” he advised, and Damon pointed the remote in various directions until he found the unobtrusive radio system (that would be part of the $100,000 Bang & Olufsen entertainment technology setup in the suite). Soon a local news channel was humming in surround sound from hidden speakers, the steady newsreader cadences competing with those from the TV. Damon and Stefan were capable of absorbing two sources of information at the same time, and more when they were at their peak—which was admittedly not now.

            But that was what Elena and Shoshana would help with: they would do the wonderful creative things they loved to do, and the byproduct would be energy, of a sort, for Stefan and Damon—they would be smarter, stronger, faster, healthier, better able to fulfill their purpose in America. Once they got settled, that is, and were properly cared for.

            “You called Dominic, right?” Stefan checked after a moment.

            “Of course,” Damon replied, as though he were insulted to be asked. “Right when we got here.” Stefan made a placating gesture. “We might get together in a few days,” he added. “No rush.” Their colleague, who had preceded them to New York, actually lived in a building across the street, a condo at the Trump International Hotel and Tower. His residence high above the city streets allegedly sported the sort of over-the-top opulence Damon craved—over sixty-three hundred square feet of marble, mahogany, gold leaf, and fire-gilded brass hardware hand-polished in the French tradition. Damon was not entirely sure what the last thing was, but he had read the descriptions, and he wanted it.

            “I’m glad we waited until the girls were done with school,” Stefan was saying, while Damon daydreamed about black galaxy marble counters and drooled. Stefan glanced over when his brother didn’t reply. “They won’t have to spend their time on lessons, or at school.”

            “I would’ve taken them earlier,” Damon finally said, eyes on the TV, and Stefan shook his head. “Well, I would’ve.”

            “I guess you would,” Stefan agreed with a sigh, imagining for a moment what a mess that would’ve been, with Damon stalking the girls at school or pestering them while they did their lessons at home. “I think I’ll try to get some sleep,” he decided, giving up for the day. He turned off the light on his side of the bed and wormed under the covers. “You can keep the TV and radio on.”

            “Okay.” Immediately Damon switched the TV station to the local news. Stefan suspected he would’ve kept it on even over his brother’s protests.

            “Goodnight,” Stefan prompted.

            “Night,” Damon replied, his tone preoccupied. Stefan trusted—reluctantly—that he was busy thinking about all the things they had to accomplish in the next few weeks.

 

**

 

            Breakfast arrived at seven AM sharp. “I love Belgian waffles!” Shoshana rhapsodized. She was freshly showered and redressed in her cleaned clothes from the night before and seemed none the worse for wear after her late night.

            “Did you sleep okay?” Stefan asked, pouring her some coffee.

            “Yes. The bed is _so_ comfortable!” she enthused.

            “I wouldn’t know,” Damon commented pointedly, cutting into the egg white frittata. Stefan kicked him slightly.

            “Good morning,” Elena greeted, walking into the dining area. “That fruit looks amazing!”

            “Nice to know the showers are now free,” Damon grumbled in response. The girls, apparently unwilling to take turns—or, to use Damon’s suggestion, share—had commandeered both bathrooms for their showers.

            “You didn’t want to use it anyway,” Stefan reminded him.

            Elena decided to ignore Damon’s complaints. “So, the mall doesn’t open until nine,” she confirmed, spearing some kiwi and mango chunks. “We’re going to Armani Exchange and Coach, right?”

            “And Wolford,” Shoshana put in. “They have underwear. It says in the brochure.”

            “Then Whole Foods,” Stefan continued, lightly buttering his whole wheat pancakes.

            “Then you girls are going to come back up here while we run some errands,” Damon concluded.

            “When are we going to get something to read?” Elena pressed, nibbling a bite of her lemon crêpe soufflé.

            Damon handed her a section of the _Wall Street Journal_ Stefan had already finished and gave Shoshana a section of the more colorful _USA Today_. “Here, read this.”

            “Ooh, the Entertainment section,” Shoshana remarked, pleased. Vermont maple syrup immediately sullied the pages she touched. “I’d like to go see a play sometime.”

            “This isn’t going to last very long,” Elena warned pessimistically. “And what about something to write on?”

            “I do want to do some writing soon,” Shoshana agreed, slurping her strawberry, soy milk, and lavender honey smoothie.

            “So little faith,” Damon chided them, dismissively.

            “We’ll take care of that today, I promise,” Stefan told them sincerely.

            An hour later the girls had run out of things to eat _and_ to read, and the mall still wasn’t open yet. Damon and Stefan gathered in a corner of the second bedroom to confer, whispering furtively. “Maybe seven was too early,” Damon admitted.

            “Should we take them for a walk?” Stefan suggested, a bit desperately.

            “No, they’ll just get off track,” Damon envisioned. “They’ll see a newsstand and go into a frenzy, then we’ll have to haul everything back to the hotel.”

            “They might have some more newspapers at the front desk,” Stefan tried again.

            “That might tide them—“ Damon broke off when Shoshana entered the bedroom, looking around. “What do you want?” he asked, irritated at the situation in general.

            She took no notice of his tone, instead opening all the drawers of the bureau and nightstands. “I’m looking for—aha!” She pulled a shiny white folder from the top bureau drawer and bounced off without another word.

            Damon and Stefan glanced at each other, then followed her into the main room. The folder contained a few sheets of hotel stationary and Shoshana was already busily scribbling on it at the dining table. Three sheets from a second folder she’d apparently found earlier were covered in her handwriting, front and back. Her hand moved so quickly across the new page, it was almost like she was just copying words from another source.

            “What are you doing?” Damon asked intrusively.

            “I’m writing a story,” Shoshana replied, hardly breaking her writing rhythm. “It’s about these warrior cats who ride dragons as they patrol the forests. I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

            Damon and Stefan stared at her. “Warrior cats?” Damon repeated, a bit skeptically.

            He reached for the filled pages but Stefan grabbed his wrist. “Do you mind if we read it?” he asked considerately.

            “If you want,” Shoshana allowed. “It’s only a rough draft, though.” She shook her hotel-issue pen in frustration. “This is not a very good pen, it keeps globbing up.”

            “It’s probably getting overheated,” Damon muttered, snatching up the pages she’d written already. He began to read, not sure what to expect—he liked fantasy stories, but dragon-riding cats weren’t really his scene. Then he found himself nodding along at a clever turn of phrase and chuckling slightly at a character’s witty one-liner. Stefan took the pages when he was done, nodding and chuckling at the same parts. The eighth page ended mid-sentence. “Where’s the rest?” Damon complained. He wanted to know what happened next.

            “I’m _writing_ it,” Shoshana pointed out, not looking up.

            “It’s really good,” Stefan told her, trying not to sound too amazed. He _knew_ she was talented—he’d been _told_ that—but his actual experience with that talent was limited.

            “I’m glad you like it,” Shoshana told him. “I just want to get a little more out of my head before we leave…” They took the hint and left her alone.

            “Let’s see what Elena’s doing,” Damon decided. They found her at a desk in the study, also writing—on the small, cheap notepads that had been by the telephones. “Guess Shoshana won the toss for the good paper,” he noted dryly.

            “It’s okay,” Elena assured them generously. “I think I have more _total_.” Three of the little notepads sat beside her, awaiting their turn.

            “What are you working on?” Stefan asked her, reluctant to interrupt.

            “Oh, I’m just writing down things that happened over the last couple days,” she demurred. “Kind of a diary entry.”

            “Does that count?” Damon asked his brother, not sure where journaling fell on the spectrum of creativity.

            “Yes,” Stefan hissed at him. “We’ll leave you to it,” he added to Elena, backing quietly from the room.

            They ended up in the master bedroom. “Huh,” Stefan commented thoughtfully.

            “Well,” Damon replied, equally stunned.

            “We need to get them some real paper,” Stefan reiterated.

            “It _is_ kind of pathetic,” Damon agreed, and Stefan smacked his arm.

            “It’s _amazing_ ,” he corrected. “They’re so resourceful. And did you see how fast they were going?”

            “They’re gonna start writing on the toilet paper next,” Damon predicted. “At least there’s a lot of it.”

            Stefan rolled his eyes and checked the clock. “Come on, twenty more minutes, then we’ll take them downstairs.”

 

**

 

            Armani Exchange was on the third floor of the glass-and-steel commercial wonderland that was The Shops at Columbus Circle. It was painfully trendy, with music blasting from the speakers and signature perfumes wafting from every corner. Obsequious salespeople in store-branded clothing descended upon the four early customers, big smiles above jaded eyes that hadn’t finished their coffee yet.

            “Airline lost our luggage,” Damon told them. “We need the whole shebang.”

            “Do you have some kind of rewards program?” Stefan inquired.

            “I want _everything_!” Shoshana declared, plunging into the racks with Elena.

            Damon felt they had successfully thrown the salespeople for a loop, at least temporarily. “Here’s the form for the rewards program,” one of them told Stefan, guiding him towards the counter by the register.

            “You can do that,” Damon delegated to his brother. “You’re good at filling out forms.” It was not meant as a compliment.

            “Okay,” Stefan agreed readily. The first saleswoman called in some backup and went to chase Elena and Shoshana down for assistance, while Damon went off to the men’s section to torment his own salesman.

            “Is there an Armani Exchange in your hometown?” the man left at the counter, whose nametag read Carson, asked with mild curiosity.

            “Actually we’re looking for an apartment around here,” Stefan informed him cordially. “On Central Park. I’m going to put down the mailing address of the lawyer who handles all our financial matters here, since we don’t really have a home address yet. Is that okay?”

            “Should be fine,” Carson assured him. It was a moderately exciting start to the day for him, at least. When Stefan was done with the paperwork Carson began pecking the information into the computer. “How many cards do you want?”

            “Four would be great,” Stefan replied, and Carson handed him four swipable plastic cards while explaining the program benefits. Stefan listened politely to the mechanical lecture, took the explanatory brochure, then finally escaped to do his own shopping.

            “Okay, here’s what you want,” Damon told him authoritatively, pointing at the pile he was collecting with his salesman, Paul.

            “They’ve got just two styles of t-shirt without huge logos on them, these crew necks and some v-necks. Although you like to be _trendy_ so maybe you _want_ the logos,” Damon added disdainfully.

            “Thanks, these are fine,” Stefan decided in a dry tone. “Ooh, can I have one of those orange ones?”

            Damon rolled his eyes. “Told you,” he said to Paul, who didn’t offer any argument. Damon preferred more classic styles, especially anything black, whereas Stefan was more willing to experiment with colors and trends. “Get him some of the tank tops, too, the regular ones, not the Gay Disco ones. We’ll come back for those when we’re looking for nightclub clothes.”

            “What else do we need?” Stefan mused, glancing around and trying not to worry about Paul’s interpretation of the ‘Gay Disco’ remark. “I need some jeans…”

            “They have dress shirts, too, and nice pants and blazers,” Damon reported. “Hmm, a vest…” He held the grey object up to his chest in the mirror, trying to decide if it was more him than it was Stefan.

            Stefan gave him a look. “I thought we were only looking for the basics right now?” he checked, leafing through a nearby rack and pulling out several colorful long-sleeved t-shirts.

            “Well, the girls are getting some nice clothes,” Damon protested. “So I want some, too.” His wardrobe color and style might be limited, but Damon was a clotheshorse—he wanted a _lot_ of clothes, the more expensive the better. “In case we go out to dinner someplace nice. Oh, and they have swim trunks and underwear here.”

            “Convenient. Do you have any hoodies or pullovers or jackets?” Stefan inquired of the new salesman who had hurried over.

            “You’re so lame,” Damon judged, before Jake the new salesman could answer. “I want to try on all of these,” he told Paul. “I’m just going to check on the girls first.”

            “Don’t pester them,” Stefan warned, but he knew Damon wouldn’t listen to him.

            “How’s it going?” Damon interrupted the girls to ask, leaning on a rack of dresses in the women’s section.

            “I think we’re doing well,” Elena judged, a determined look in her eyes. “We have tank tops, t-shirts, blouses, hoodies, and cardigans so far, and we were about to try on some jeans.”

            “Look!” Shoshana said excitedly, holding up a light pink t-shirt with an elaborate, tacky fake necklace printed on it, complete with real beads and sequins. “Isn’t it pretty?” Damon was spared from having to answer as she immediately switched to a much more normal looking dark red long-sleeved shirt. “And they have henleys! Are there any henleys in the men’s section? Henleys are _so_ sexy, I think.”

            “Really?” Damon asked with interest. He turned towards the other side of the store. “Stefan! Get me some henleys!” Stefan gave him an annoyed look but Paul and Jake the salesmen sprang into action.

            “I think you’ll look so sexy in those,” Shoshana assured him flirtatiously.

            “Mm-hmm,” Damon agreed, leaning in closer to her. “Sexy, hmm…”

            Elena cleared her throat pointedly. “We have some pants and skirts to try on,” she reminded Shoshana. “Maybe a couple dresses. And those trenchcoats…”

            Shoshana’s attention was successfully diverted. “Ooh, I want a trenchcoat, they’re so elegant!” She bounded away to another rack.

            Damon tried to lose gracefully. “Well, I’m gonna go try on some stuff, too,” he announced. “Before Stefan throws out everything but the polos and plaid.”

            The Armani Exchange salespeople began to lose their jaded look as the clothes piled up on the counter. It was a pretty good haul from one store, especially for the guys. Really all Stefan and Damon still needed were shoes and socks, maybe some heavier jackets and sweaters. The girls still required not only shoes and socks but also swimwear, underwear, button-down shirts, blazers, more dresses, light outer jackets, and some plain t-shirts that didn’t have either an Armani Exchange logo or an elaborate, tacky fake necklace printed on them. Plus the leather goods they looked forward to at Coach, of course.

            Even with three salespeople forming an assembly line, Damon could see it was going to take a while to process all their purchases. Stefan and Elena were good at pretending to be patient, but Shoshana rocked back and forth on her heels restlessly. “Well, I guess you guys can go on,” Damon told them, feeling extremely selfless.

            The other three perked up immediately. “Really?” Stefan checked.

            “Coach, right? Ground floor,” Damon confirmed. “I’ll meet you there.”

            “You’re so sweet!” Shoshana decided, kissing his cheek. Then she skipped off, the others hurrying after her.

            Once he’d paid and sent the many bags off to the hotel, Damon made his way through the determinedly modern structure to the ground floor, where the smell of leather greeted him as he entered the Coach store. Disappointingly, they didn’t have the racks of leather coats he was hoping for; the store seemed mostly geared towards women, with purses and high heeled shoes on display everywhere.

            “Can I help you, sir?” a salesman named Arturo questioned immediately. He was slightly older than the ones at the last store, and better dressed, in Damon’s opinion.

            “I’m with…” He gazed around the store, spotting the girls at the back. “…them.” He headed towards them purposefully, pausing only as he approached a large pile of purses sitting haphazardly on the counter. “Is all this _theirs_?” he asked suspiciously of Arturo, who either didn’t know or felt bound by salesman-client confidentiality.

            “I thought you only needed one purse each,” Damon accused the girls, interrupting their saleswoman’s spiel.

            Elena turned on him with annoyance. “We need small purses to carry around the mall, larger bags for when we’re out longer, clutches and wristlets for nice restaurants and clubs, totes for traveling, plus cosmetic and jewelry cases and wallets of various sizes to match the purses,” she rattled off in a huff.

            Damon gaped at her slightly. Shoshana shoved something garish and sparkly before his face as he tried to recover. “Look! This one has purple sequins!”

            “Where’s Stefan?” Damon asked, deciding this was the only safe response. Elena pointed, then went back to debating the merits of two purses with the saleswoman. To Damon they looked identical.

            “Does it come in pink?” he heard Shoshana ask as he retreated to the small men’s section, where Stefan was trying on boots.

            Damon sat down beside him. “Oh, hi,” Stefan greeted. “Not many leather coats, huh?”

            “No,” Damon agreed. “What’s a wristlet?”

            Stefan shrugged. “No idea. But if you suggest a girl doesn’t need one, you get in a lot of trouble.”

            “No kidding.” Damon glanced around. “Why are you getting boots?”

            “Well, they don’t have any men’s dress shoes,” Stefan explained. “I thought these would be good if it rained. Oh, I got a trenchcoat and a bomber jacket, and some belts and wallets.”

            “Better than nothing, I guess,” Damon decided, as Arturo attended to him.

            He got a little nervous when he saw the girls move to the shoe section, which was quite extensive, and checked his watch. “Getting bored?” Stefan asked. They’d already paid for their own items and sent them to the hotel; now they were standing around trying not to impulse-buy cufflinks and wallet chains. “They’re very focused,” he went on, watching the girls from a distance. “Well, Elena is. And she’s good at keeping Shoshana on task.”

            “Focus is overrated,” Damon judged, fingering the wallet chains. He couldn’t decide if they looked pretentiously ‘street’ or practical and classic, in a poncey Victorian way. Both appealed to him.

            Stefan nudged his shoulder, indicating the girls were finally approaching. Between the purses, shoes, and a couple jackets they’d picked out, the sales staff might be able to close up shop for the day and go home early.

            “But why don’t they have shoes in _pink_?” Shoshana complained petulantly. “They had pink sneakers—why couldn’t I have _those_?”

            “We don’t need more sneakers right now,” Elena told her, obviously not for the first time. “We just need some nice heels and flats. And those rainboots. Those are pretty, aren’t they?”

            “Well, I guess so,” Shoshana agreed, grudgingly.

            Damon draped his arm around her shoulders. “Stefan will pay for this stuff,” he declared magnanimously. “Where are we going next?”

            “Wolford,” Elena reminded them.

            “I’m hungry,” Shoshana complained.

            Damon figured she was just being whiny. “Don’t you want to get some new underwear?” he persuaded. Talk about things you never thought you’d say.

            The desires for food and cleanliness warred on Shoshana’s face. “Well… okay. I do want some underwear.”

            “Okay then,” Damon agreed, encouraging the girls to head out the door. “We’ll be at Wolford.”

            “ _You’ll_ be at Wolford?” Stefan teased as the salespeople rang up the goods behind him.

            “Well, maybe,” Damon hedged. “If it looks interesting, like Victoria’s Secret, I’ll go in.”

            It did not look interesting. They might sell eighty-five dollar underwear, but it looked about as sexy as Grandma’s lingerie drawer. “I think I’ll go in there,” Damon decided, pointing at the shop across the way.

            “Thomas Pink,” Shoshana read, getting excited. “What do _they_ sell?”

            “Men’s dress shirts,” he responded, and her face fell. “Sometimes they have women’s clothes, if it’s not a purist branch,” he offered.

            “Underwear,” Elena reminded her friend. Shoshana decided to go with her.

            “Okay, you’re going to get a card if they have one, right?” Damon checked before they could leave his sight. “Do you remember the address?”

            “We had to memorize it,” Elena told him briskly.

            “Even _I_ remember it,” Shoshana pointed out knowingly.

            “Are you okay going off by yourselves?” Damon probed, giving them an assessing look. He seemed on the point of changing his mind and accompanying them, unsexy underwear or not.

            “We’ll be fine,” Elena assured him. “Come on.” She tugged on Shoshana’s arm and—clutching their new shopping-at-the-mall small purses—they walked into Wolford. Damon watched them go, then turned and headed into Thomas Pink.

            “I thought I’d find you here,” Stefan smirked a few minutes later, walking into the large back room of the shirt store. Damon had three salesmen fluttering around him, with piles of clothes on every surface and three full-length mirrors to show him how every angle looked in his dress shirt and trousers.

            He held up two shirts in front of Stefan. “Which do you like better?”

            Since Damon rarely asked his opinion on anything, Stefan gazed at the shirts carefully and tried to make up his mind. “Are they different?” he was finally forced to ask. He would not put it past his brother to try to trick him.

            Damon huffed and turned back to the mirrors. “What did I tell you, Ramon?” he asked one of the salesmen. “No sense of style at all. If you had something with a logo splashed across it, he’d probably get that.” Stefan rolled his eyes. “This one,” Damon decided, holding out one of the shirts. “I want a dozen of these. And the grey ones. And the black. A dozen each.”

            “Just the basics, huh?” Stefan commented dryly.

            “Well, while I’m here,” Damon shrugged. He started to unbutton the shirt he was wearing. “Did you check on the girls?”

            “Yes,” Stefan assured him. “I think you made a good decision to not go in there.” The saleswomen and other customers would have been very grateful if they’d realized what they’d missed—Stefan knew his brother couldn’t have kept his inappropriate remarks to himself. “I think they’ll be done soon, though.”

            Damon gave him a look of mild alarm. “Already? Armand! We need to get my brother measured, stat!”

            Well-dressed salesmen seemed to fly at Stefan from all sides, removing his jacket and stretching a tape measure across his shoulders. “Well they—“ Stefan straightened up as he was commanded. “They’re getting hungry and—“

            “We’ll go to Whole Foods next, and then they can rest for a while,” Damon promised, putting his original shirt and leather jacket back on. “Now just get what Armand suggests if you’re confused, okay?” he added patronizingly. “I’ll go see how the girls are doing.”

 

**

 

            “This was not a good idea,” Damon commented flatly.

            “I thought if they were hungry, they’d get rundown and whiny,” Stefan admitted.

            “Clearly, they haven’t.” Damon was pushing the shopping cart slowly through Whole Foods, while the girls buzzed around them chattering at a mile a minute and pulling seemingly random items off the shelves to drop in the cart. “No, put that back—“ he tried helplessly.

            “But they have sprinkles!” Shoshana insisted, shoving the box of donuts into the cart.

            “Those aren’t healthy for you—“ Stefan attempted, but she just bounced away, ignoring him.

            “No, come on, you don’t need—“ Damon snapped as Elena approached, her arms laden with bags of oranges. Stefan was torn on whether to help her or not.

            “We need more fruit,” she declared zealously. She left Stefan holding the bags and rushed away again.

            “Um, at least it’s healthy,” he offered lamely to Damon.

            “Go put it back,” his brother ordered, a dark look in his eyes.

            “They’ll just get more,” Stefan sighed.

            “No!” Damon told Shoshana firmly, taking out the packages of cookies she dumped into the cart and slamming them down on a nearby shelf. “You’re not getting those!”

            “I want them!” she countered defiantly, trying to push them back into the basket.

            “I said _no_ —“

            “Stefan, could you help me with this?” Elena asked, struggling with a ridiculously large watermelon.

            “No!” Damon repeated in general, then specifically when Stefan tried to put the oranges he still held down in the cart. He was forced to set them on the floor instead and when Damon turned back around he found the cookie packages back in the basket and Shoshana nowhere to be seen. “Stefan,” he hissed through gritted teeth, grabbing his brother’s arm. Elena had deposited the watermelon with him and trotted away. “Get them out of here.”

            “What?” Stefan frowned, awkwardly balancing the melon.

            “Take them away, get them something to eat, and put them in the room before I f‑‑‑‑‑g strangle them,” Damon snarled.

            “Yeah, okay,” Stefan agreed wisely. He placed the watermelon in the cart, having nothing else to do with it, and accosted Shoshana, who was approaching with an armload of cheese. “Okay, honey, let’s put that down now.”

            “But I want it!” she insisted, eyes glassy. Damon growled from the cart and Stefan hurriedly took the cheese from her, placing it on a nearby shelf with what he hoped was a disarming smile.

            “Come on, let’s go to the Concourse and get something to eat,” he persuaded. “There’s a Jamba Juice.”

            “I love juice,” she decided, and Stefan took her hand and went off to intercept Elena.

            Everything seemed so quiet once they were gone, Damon thought. But he was still angry at them, and more so at himself for not maintaining their schedule properly. He was very tempted to put the watermelon on the floor and give it a good kick.

            Instead he snagged the eye of an employee going by. “You might want to put all this away, I’m not buying it,” he stated, before turning and walking back to the front of the store. He was going to get a new cart and start over—that was the only way he felt he could avoid losing his temper.

 

**

 

            Stefan and the girls were back up in the room when the groceries started to arrive. Damon had managed to send up all the basics: bread and bagels, dried beans and rice, flour, almonds and peanuts, sunflower seeds, several kinds of cheese, coffee and tea, olive oil, milk, butter, cottage cheese, cream cheese, yogurt, eggs, olives, pasta and dried noodles, salt, pepper, sugar, vinegar, peanut butter and jelly, fresh cuts of beef, fish, and chicken, oranges, apples, strawberries, bananas, broccoli, carrots, potatoes, and fresh leafy greens, and he had even gotten several different kinds of toiletries to supplement what the hotel had provided.

            However, Damon himself did not accompany the groceries back to the room. Just as Stefan was wondering whether he should leave the girls and go downstairs, the phone rang with Damon on the other end. “Where are you calling from?” Stefan wanted to know.

            Damon slurped loudly on a drink. “House phone in the ground-floor lobby,” he replied nonchalantly. “Groceries get there?”

            “Yes,” Stefan assured him. “Are you coming up?”

            “I got them each a spiral notebook and a couple pens, and some magazines,” he warned, avoiding the question.

            There were a series of squeals behind Stefan. “I think they found them.”

            “You fed them?” Damon checked. “Did _you_ eat?”

            “Yes, we had some salads, smoothies, and muffins at Jamba Juice,” he reported. “They’ve calmed down a little now. Are you coming up?” he repeated. “Should I order room service for lunch?”

            Damon crunched on something, then spoke with his mouth full. “No, I want to get on with our errands,” he decided. “Let’s go to Borders. Then we can eat in their café and go to Staples.”

            “Sounds like a good idea,” Stefan agreed. “I’ll get the girls started on eating from what you just bought, then I’ll meet you downstairs.”

            When Stefan come down to the ground floor lobby he found Damon sitting in one of the few chairs, reading the latest issue of _Time Out New York_ and picking at an almost empty container of nachos. “I’m having six different newspapers delivered to the room each morning,” he told Stefan. “That seemed like a good start.”

            His brother nodded. “Should we get some magazine subscriptions started?” he queried as Damon tossed the paper aside and they headed back towards the mall.

            “Let’s wait until we’re moved in to our apartment,” Damon judged. “You got them started on lunch?” Because the salads, smoothies, and muffins from Jamba Juice had been consumed a whole hour ago and weren’t going to cut it as a meal.

            “Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cheese and fruit, and carrots,” Stefan reported.

            “That should tide them over,” Damon remarked dryly.

            They stopped outside the Borders store, its interior wafting the irresistible scents of paper and coffee. “What’s the plan?” Stefan asked, trying to stay focused. He could easily get over-stimulated here himself.

            “Depth, not breadth,” Damon began, reciting what they’d learned in their training classes. “Two genres only, one fiction, one non, lots of books in each.”

            Belatedly Stefan realized he should’ve given this more thought. “Okay, hmm, what about—“

            “I’m going with teen supernatural romance,” Damon declared peremptorily. Clearly _he_ had given it some thought.

            “What?”

            “Shoshana loves _Twilight_ ,” Damon reminded him. “Ergo, other books in this genre would be winners.”

            Stefan would not have gone that route himself. “Leaving me with non-fiction,” he noted. He glanced at the books on display in the store window for inspiration. “Uh, history?”

            “Too broad.”

            “Travel books?”

            Damon rolled his eyes. “We just moved here. We don’t need to get them books about _other_ places.”

            An idea clicked in Stefan’s mind. “New York,” he suggested. “Travel, history, culture.”

            He could tell Damon really wanted to put this down but couldn’t find a reason to. “Okay, I guess,” he conceded grudgingly.

            Stefan grinned. “I don’t think the girls are mad at you, by the way,” he remarked cheekily.

            “I wouldn’t care if they were,” Damon scoffed, which meant just the opposite. “Can we get started now?”

            “Let’s do it,” Stefan agreed, and they plunged into the bookstore.

            It didn’t take them long to be noticed. “Can I help you, sir?” a saleswoman asked the man in the leather jacket lurking in the teen section.

            “Yes… Rochelle,” Damon replied, reading her nametag. “I need teen supernatural romances.” He already had two filled baskets on the floor, plus the one he was carrying. “I’ve got _Twilight_ and everything with the word ‘vampire’ in the title. What else have you got?”

            Rochelle put on her game face and dove in. “Well, there’s _House of Night_ ,” she pointed out, “and the _Blue Bloods_ series.”

            “Clever,” Damon decided. He indicated she should find these for him and pile them in his basket. “My wife likes those _True Blood_ books, too. Where are they?”

            “They’re in the supernatural mystery section,” Rochelle revealed. “Do you want just vampires, or are fairies okay, too?” She was prepared to be quite thorough in her research.

            “I guess,” Damon allowed. “And werewolves. But no zombies, she doesn’t like zombies.” Although Rochelle seemed content to rifle through the books and stack them without question, Damon decided to throw out his cover story. “She’s having surgery soon. My wife,” he added, when she glanced up. “I wanted her to have something to look forward to reading while she recovers.”

            His effort to make the situation seem more normal seemed marginally successful. “Oh, that’s sweet of you,” Rochelle assessed. “What about angels?” She held up a book whose cover depicted a shirtless young man with supernaturally tight abs—and wings.

            “They do romances with _angels_ now?” Damon scoffed, taking the book and flipping through it. “That is messed up. Yeah, I’ll take them.”

            “It’s a hot genre right now,” Rochelle acknowledged. “Some of it’s well-done, others are cheap knock-offs. Do you want to branch out into teen dystopian adventure, like _The Hunger Games_?”

            Damon decided he liked this woman. “Only if there’s a strong romance component,” he judged. “I don’t want some depressing thing about robot overlords genetically engineering humans to fight in gladiatorial games.” Rochelle put the book she was holding back on the shelf. “Can I bring these to the front?” he asked, picking up a second full basket.

            “Sure, just ask them to hold it for you,” Rochelle replied. “You want me to keep going?”

            “Absolutely,” Damon assured her.

            Meanwhile, in travel, Stefan was also chatting with a helpful young salesperson who seemed fascinated by his recent move to the city and his desire to learn more about it. Perhaps more fascinated than Stefan had intended, he realized slowly. Too late, he concluded that asking about Broadway musicals and upscale shopping probably hadn’t helped.

            “We need to get wedding rings,” he said to Damon, finding him in the adult-oriented supernatural section disdainfully rejecting books and reshelving them incorrectly.

            “None of the vampire porn!” he called down to the other end of the aisle—loudly—and Rochelle nodded dutifully as she compiled more books. “I was thinking about rings,” he agreed to Stefan. “Why are _you_?”

            “Davion the sales guy offered to give me a personal tour of New York,” Stefan admitted and Damon snorted gleefully.

            “Did you do the ‘I’ll have to check with my wife’ line?” he snickered.

            “No,” sighed Stefan sheepishly. “It seemed too blatant. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. So I thanked him and changed the subject.”

            “It’s New York, baby,” Damon chided. “You’re gonna have to grow a spine.” He turned to Rochelle at the end of the aisle. “How’s it going? That’s probably enough for right now. I’ll be back if she gets bored.”

            The two of them went to the registers, where several impressive piles of books were being scanned by employees. “Oh, let’s not forget the—“ Stefan began, eyeing all the extra non-book items arrayed before the registers awaiting impulse buys.

            “Good idea,” Damon agreed. They began scooping up handfuls of goofy pens with pompoms on top, strings of beads marketed as bookmarks, and post-it note stacks in shapes not conducive to actually writing a note. “Where are the notebook-journal things?” Damon called out.

            “Just off to your right, sir,” someone answered, and both of them headed that way. They had several employees catering to them at the moment and even the manager had come out to hover around, perhaps trying to make sure they weren’t deadbeats wasting everyone’s time. Damon felt the attention was well-deserved, even the suspicious kind.

            The wall of the ‘gift’ section held an impressive selection of both bound journals and spiral notebooks. “They use them for different things,” Stefan said suddenly, as if reading Damon’s mind as he stared at the colorful books. “The bound journals are permanent records, like diaries,” he went on, picking up a notebook with a striking, minimalist black-and-white cover. “The spiral notebooks are more for stories that are going to be typed up later—they might get thrown away when they’re full.”

            “Well what’s the point of getting them, then,” Damon grumbled, nonetheless filling his arms with every kitten- or flower-bearing one he could find. “We should just get them twenty-five-cent basics from the office supply store.”

            “And we probably will,” Stefan agreed dryly. He gave up perusing the designs closely and just grabbed whatever caught his eye, figuring that between the two of them the girls would have a wide selection.

            “Cool, I want a tote bag,” Damon declared, dumping his notebooks into a woven satchel lined with pink he’d plucked from a nearby shelf. “Well, not me _personally_ ,” he clarified, grabbing a pink backpack as well for no discernible reason.

            “We need to get out of this store,” Stefan judged. “Hand me one of those in blue for Elena. And the green backpack. And the black one.” Damon laughed devilishly and took a grey backpack as well.

            They deposited their new selections on the counter and tried not to grab anything else while they were being rung up. Stefan began giving one employee the information for their rewards card and Damon, bored, wandered off dangerously. He returned a few minutes later and smugly sat a brown stuffed bunny on the counter.

            Stefan did a double-take at this new world of gift-giving opening up before him. “Where’d you get that?” he wanted to know.

            “Over there,” Damon responded, pointing to a rather prominent display at the front of the store. “Oh no you don’t,” he blocked when Stefan started to head for it. “All the bunnies are brown. You can’t give Elena a brown bunny if I’m giving Shoshana a brown bunny. It’s just not right.”

            Stefan narrowed his eyes at his brother’s oh-so-innocent argument. “Are there any other stuffed animals in the store?” he asked the nearest salesperson.

            “In the children’s section, at the back,” she suggested, and he took off.

            “It was my idea first!” Damon called after him obnoxiously.

            Moments later, Stefan was the smug one as he returned and set his selection on the counter: a pink plush bear, complete with a shiny bow around its neck. “No!” Damon gasped in mock horror, seeing that he’d been trumped.

            “This is Isabella,” Stefan introduced, his deadpan perfect even when Damon cracked up. “I think Elena will like her, don’t you?”

            “Shoshana would like her so much more!” Damon insisted. “Let’s trade.”

            “Oh, I don’t know,” Stefan shrugged. “Me and Isabella are pretty happy together.” Not that it _really_ mattered, of course; the girls would sort it out once they saw the toys.

            “You’re so evil,” Damon judged, with a certain amount of respect. Then he started looking around for something to top the pink bear, though he knew that probably wasn’t possible. His eyes lit on the candy by the register.

            “You can’t give them candy!” Stefan protested, serious this time. “It’s not good for them.”

            “Oh, please,” Damon scoffed. “It’s just a treat.” There were several different color-coded boxes of individually-wrapped Lindt chocolate truffles sitting on the counter—red for milk chocolate, blue for dark chocolate, orange for milk chocolate peanut butter, green for mint chocolate. He pushed every box he could find across the counter towards the registers.

            “That’s not a good idea,” Stefan tried to tell him, but he was ignored.

            “You can send all this to the hotel upstairs, right?” Damon checked. “The Presidential Suite.”

            “Of course, sir,” the manager assured him. He looked like he was about to burst into small talk, so Damon shoved Stefan at him and went off to peruse a book of sassy old lady quotes instead.

            Once everything had been rung up and paid for—a process that went much faster once Damon stopped slipping new humorous novelty books into the pile—they strolled over to the bookstore’s café with their new Borders card in hand. They got the feeling everyone had been holding their breath until the credit card finally cleared and now the cloud of suspicion had been lifted from them, leaving them just two more of New York’s wealthy eccentrics.

            “Triple chocolate mocha,” Damon ordered at the café. “Why is it ‘chocolate’ _and_ ‘mocha’? Mocha _implies_ the addition of chocolate to coffee, doesn’t it?”

            “It has three different kinds of chocolate in it,” the perky girl at the counter replied.

            “What are they?” Damon asked in confusion.

            Stefan bumped him aside. “You don’t care,” he pointed out. “Please, ignore him,” he added to the girl, whose tag indicated her name was Alyssa. “Could I get a large chai tea latte?”

            “Sure,” she replied, keying it into her register. “Was that a large triple chocolate mocha as well?”

            Damon was peering into the pastry case intently, so Stefan gave the nod on his behalf. “You want a sandwich, or more like a brownie?” he asked Stefan. Fortunately they didn’t need as much fuel as the girls did.

            “I think I’ll take a blueberry scone,” Stefan decided.

            “Well, I want a brownie,” Damon told Alyssa. She quickly swiped their new rewards card, then their credit card, and began to fetch the food while another employee started on the drinks. Stefan stuffed a generous bill in the tip jar on the counter.

            “So, Staples next?” Stefan checked as they waited.

            “Yup,” Damon confirmed. They took their snacks to a table and Stefan, naturally, was left to get napkins and silverware. “Let’s decide what we’re going to get.” He flourished a goofy pen topped by a pom-pom, hovering it over a napkin.

            “More pens,” Stefan began, breaking off a chunk of his scone to eat. “Pencils, too.”

            “Why?” Damon countered, around a mouthful of brownie.

            “They last longer than pens, won’t dry out, and might be useful if they want to draw or something.”

            Damon blinked at him. “You’ve been thinking about this,” he accused.

            “It’s a long elevator ride,” Stefan reminded him.

            “Eating _scones_ ,” Damon chided by way of response. “No wonder the salesman thought you were gay.” He stole a corner of the pastry for himself as Stefan rolled his eyes.

            “Damon?” called Alyssa from the café counter. He didn’t move, so Stefan went to get the drinks.

            “Paper, but what kind?” Damon mused upon his return. “Looseleaf, notebook, yellow pad?”

            “Looseleaf, spiral notebook, composition book, and unlined drawing paper,” Stefan posited.

            “No,” Damon denied, sipping his drink too soon and wincing at the temperature. “Pointless. One lined kind for writing, one unlined kind for drawing.”

            Stefan carefully blew on his drink to cool it first. “Forever, or just for now?”

            “Oh, once we find a place to live I’m sure whole forests will be clearcut to supply their paper needs,” Damon remarked sardonically. “But until then, what do they _really_ need? And we don’t even have to get it all this trip.”

            Stefan gave this reasoning some thought, always slightly disturbed when his brother made sense. “Looseleaf is the most versatile, and the least messy,” he admitted. “ _But_ ,” he went on before Damon could write it down, “we’ll need to give them organizational tools with it.”

            “I’m not hauling a filing cabinet back to the hotel,” Damon groused. “And I _don’t_ taste three kinds of chocolate in this,” he added of his drink.

            “What about one of those portable file boxes with a handle?” Stefan suggested instead. “Then we’ll need file folders, folder labels—“

            “Just write on the folders,” Damon corrected.

            “—paperclips, stapler, staples,” Stefan went on while Damon scribbled. “Three-ring binders, binder tab dividers, post-it notes, post-it tape flags—“

            “Stop!” Damon commanded as the napkin tore under his pen. “Here, you write, I’m tired of it.” Stefan took the pen and napkin from him, surprised it had taken this long. Damon went back to his snack as Stefan added the last items. “They don’t need post-it thingies,” he complained. “And, we just got them some anyway.”

            “They’re important for organization,” Stefan tried to tell him, and Damon scoffed. “Because _you’re_ such an expert on organization,” Stefan added sarcastically.

            “What are you writing?” Damon demanded as Stefan continued to list things. This was the downside of delegation, he realized, trusting your delegates.

            “Unlined drawing paper, colored pencils, scissors, tape, glue—“

            “No, no, no,” Damon interrupted. “Let’s not get into the craft supplies just yet. They can write, they can draw, and they can do whatever the computers let them do.”

            Stefan wrote down ‘computers,’ though he doubted he would forget that one. “You now they’ll need more than that,” he warned, giving Damon a serious look.

            “I know, I know,” his brother conceded. He slurped at his coffee drink. “I’m not being stingy. It’s just—everything we buy now we have to move later—“

            “Says the man who bought three dozen shirts at Thomas Pink today,” Stefan observed pointedly.

            “—and I don’t want them to get over-stimulated,” Damon finished, smug in the knowledge that this point was hard to dispute.

            “What about _just_ colored pencils?” Stefan negotiated persistently.

            “Obsession,” Damon singsonged at him.

            “I just don’t want them to feel—“ Stefan broke off, shaking his head.

            “What?” Damon wanted to know, of course. “ _What?_ ”

            “Like we haven’t thought about their needs,” he finally admitted quietly. It was silly, in a sense; almost everything they’d done so far, and would do in the near future, was in an attempt to make the girls happy and productive.

            “You are such a pushover,” Damon judged. But at least he didn’t take the comment as a personal affront. “Okay, fine, colored pencils, but nothing else artsy. If they need more in the next few weeks we can always go back to Staples, not like it’s about to be swallowed by a black hole.”

            “Good point,” Stefan agreed dryly. “Cell phones,” he added to the list.

            “Cameras,” Damon decided as well. “Might be useful.” That was all he could think of at the moment and he drained his cooling drink with finality. “Do _you_ need anything?” he asked Stefan curiously.

            “Hmm? Oh, no, I’m fine,” Stefan replied absently, correcting some of Damon’s earlier spelling on the list.

            “Enough to read?” Damon pressed, mocking solicitous but with a genuine undercurrent. “Enough hair gel?”

            “I saw you got me hair gel at Whole Foods,” Stefan smirked. He tried to show his appreciation for the gesture without putting Damon off. “And I planned to read several of the New York books we just got. Do _you_ need anything?”

            “Well, I’ll have to reassess once we get back to the hotel,” Damon mused. “But I think I need more clothes.” Stefan rolled his eyes, expecting that Damon was in fact being sincere. “And I really need the Internet,” he added.

            Stefan collected their trash, knowing Damon wouldn’t, and put their empty plates back on the counter. “Well let’s go buy some computers,” he suggested.

            Damon stood and they headed for the door. “Let’s go by the hotel lobby first and call up to the suite,” he said. “Tell the girls we’re leaving the area. Gimme the list.” Stefan handed over the pathetic, slightly shredded napkin.

            Damon let Stefan make the call on the house phone in the street-level hotel lobby, preferring instead to consult with the doorman about the exact location of the Staples and to warn him another load of goods was coming. He and his co-worker didn’t seem to mind hauling all the packages upstairs; it was apparently the most excitement they’d had in a while.

            “Well?” Damon prompted when Stefan finally hung up.

            “They’re fine,” Stefan assured him.

            “Good. Hop in.” Cabs were thick around the shopping center now that it was mid-afternoon. “Staples on 47th and Central,” Damon told the driver.

            “They got the bookstore stuff,” Stefan went on. He stared out the window, trying to get a look at the city he’d only seen in the dark. “They were really excited.”

            “Good.” Damon was also staring out his window, but the city streets occupied less of his brainpower than the tasks he still had ahead of him. “Staples, then we’re done for the day. The girls will need to eat again soon,” he judged. “Maybe we can order a couple of pizzas for dinner, get the computers set up this evening.”

            “Yeah, we should organize everything we bought today, decide where we need to go tomorrow,” Stefan agreed.

            “Hugo Boss,” Damon wished. “Cole Haan. Maybe the girls would like to go to Sephora.”

            “Yes, I bet they would,” Stefan nodded. Companions tended to be rather involved with their grooming—it had never been made clear to him if their hair and skin was actually more delicate, or if this was just psychological. “Rings,” he reminded Damon.

            “Yes,” he agreed. “There’s a Tiffany’s around here somewhere. We could get dressed up, have a nice dinner out, and go pick out jewelry.”

            “Good plan.” They pulled up in front of the Staples and Damon let Stefan pay, then let him push the cart once they got inside. He liked to be generous that way. But then while Damon was standing in the entrance trying to get his bearings, Stefan plunged ahead to a nearby display and started putting stacks of post-it notes into the cart.

            “What are you doing?” Damon protested.

            Guiltily Stefan dropped a handful of tape flags into the cart. “Shopping,” he said, trying to sound casual.

            “I already said no to those. They’re not on the list.” He waved the napkin at his brother for emphasis. Stefan looked between the cart and the display hesitantly, clearly not wanting to put anything back. “Look at you, going into a frenzy already,” Damon scoffed in mock-disgust. “If _you_ can’t be restrained we’ll never get out of here alive.”

            “I thought _you_ were going to be the restrained one,” Stefan countered, only half-serious. “You made the list!”

            “Well, I was restrained when I made the list, now it’s _your_ turn,” Damon explained in a reasonable tone. “We’re taking turns.”

            “Ohhh,” Stefan replied with understanding. “Are those color-coordinated paperclips?”

            Damon’s eyes immediately shifted to another display, of clear plastic containers whose contents were each a different bright, solid color. He went to examine it right away. “Paperclips are on the list,” he noted, choosing one pink package and one purple for Shoshana.

            “But not butterfly clips, binder clips, or pushpins,” Stefan pointed out of the containers’ other contents.

            Damon tried to think of a way around this. “So?” he finally challenged.

            “Good point,” Stefan agreed dryly. He took red and blue containers for Elena.

            “Hey, you’re supposed to be the _restrained_ one,” Damon reminded him.

            “What can I say? Your impeccable logic swayed me,” Stefan claimed.

            Damon tried to keep them focused. “Okay, paper aisle, this way. Keep your head down. Don’t look at anything!” he warned. Somehow a pair of scissors made it into the cart anyway, but Damon made a point of ignoring them. “Looseleaf paper,” he announced, pointing to the stacks on the shelf. “College ruled is the narrower one, right?”

            “Yes,” Stefan agreed, picking up all the packages that were set out. It really didn’t seem like very much once they stacked them in the cart, however, and Damon stared down at it with a frown.

            “That’s all they have?” he asked, looking around.

            “Yeah, I don’t see anymore,” Stefan agreed. “I’m sure they’ll put more out for tomorrow, though.”

            “Yeah, but—when I said we could always come back again, I didn’t mean _that_ soon,” Damon clarified dubiously. “Do you think this much paper will hold them for a couple of weeks?”

            Stefan leaned on the handle of the cart and gave this some thought. “It’s not that _I_ think it won’t,” he finally said, “but if the _girls_ think it won’t, they might not use it as freely.”

            Damon nodded slowly. “The balance between overstimulation and fearful conservation.”

            Stefan grinned suddenly. “I was beginning to think you hadn’t paid attention in Seminar at all,” he teased.

            Damon rolled his eyes. “I did. Mostly. It’s different for real,” he admitted. Before Stefan could follow up on this intriguing remark, however, Damon went back to the task at hand. “Okay, so let’s get them more paper. What are our options?”

            “We could take the wide-ruled looseleaf as well,” Stefan listed. “We could ask an employee if they have more college-ruled somewhere. Or we could get them paper in another format, like spiral notebooks.”

            “Let’s go with the notebooks,” Damon decided after a moment. “They’ll like those.” They pushed the cart down to the end of the aisle and began to load up on cheap spiralbound notebooks, of which there were many. This pile was more satisfying to Damon. “That should stave off the fearful conservation,” he judged.

            “Binders next?” Stefan suggested, pointing to the bewildering array of colors and sizes lining the wall behind them.

            Damon stared at them for a long moment. “I find myself not really caring about binders,” he confessed.

            Stefan nodded sympathetically. “Give me thirty seconds on your watch,” he suggested.

            Damon grinned and set the stopwatch function. “Okay. Go.”

            Stefan started grabbing binders of random sizes and colors and dropping them into the cart. Granted, he didn’t have time to move very far down the aisle, but he had a pleasant variety by the time Damon’s watched beeped.

            “That was fun,” Damon told him. “If I give you five minutes, can you do the whole store?”

            Stefan smirked. “Not without someone stopping me.”

            Damon conceded this. “Good thing no one saw that, I think you were going a little _too_ fast,” he pointed out as they moved across the center aisle to the next set of shelves.

            “Oh. Sorry,” Stefan grimaced. Enhanced speed was a known, and desired, effect of companion energy, but obviously not one to be displayed in public.

            “What did we need here again?” Damon prompted, staring at the piles of binder accessories.

            “Tabbed dividers,” Stefan recalled, grabbing two large packages. He wondered if his brother was getting tired; he would never admit to it if he was, but despite his recent burst of speed, Stefan at least was definitely feeling the effects of a long and stressful day. “Oh, and sheet protectors would be good, so they can store small things. I didn’t think of that before.” Stefan gave Damon a sideways glance, but no objection was offered.

            “Folders over here,” Damon summoned, already in the next aisle, and Stefan pushed the increasingly heavy cart over to him. “You find that portable file box you were talking about,” he added, putting two boxes of rainbow-colored file folders in the cart.

            Stefan returned a few minutes later carrying a basket and found Damon leaning on the cart, staring off into space. He didn’t even chide Stefan for being gone so long—that was how Stefan knew for _sure_ he was tired. They hadn’t been around the girls and their creativity enough today. “Okay, I got these,” he said, adding two large boxes to the cart. They had hinged lids, with strong latches and handles, and were just the right width for file folders. “Oh, and I found these,” he added, showing Damon the storage clipboards. “See, you can write on it, then open it and keep papers inside.”

            “Nice,” Damon agreed.

            “Plus I got a couple of staplers and some staples,” Stefan went on. “I passed a display.”

            “I’ve just been standing here doing nothing,” Damon admitted, shaking himself. “Come on, stay focused. Let’s get the pens.”

            Stefan obligingly pushed the cart towards the other end of the store, where the writing utensils were located. “I was wondering if maybe, tomorrow, after we do some more shopping, we could just relax in the room for a while,” he suggested delicately. “Then in the evening, dinner and Tiffany’s.”

            “Yeah, that might be a good idea,” Damon agreed. “We’ll have the computers and phones then, so we can contact the real estate agent, the car dealer, the bank—“

            Well, that wasn’t really what Stefan had meant by ‘relax;’ but it was so novel to see his brother working hard at something he didn’t want to discourage it. He might feel more like relaxing when the time came anyway.

            “Okay, pens,” Damon reiterated, looking at the choices before them. “You get the pencils.” Stefan turned around and grabbed a large box of wooden pencils, two electric sharpeners, and two small hand sharpeners. “They like gel pens, right, so I’ll get a box of black and a box of blue,” Damon decided from behind him.

            “And, honestly, I think we’re going to be buying pens a lot,” Stefan told him, “but they’re easy to find, and I don’t think they’ll be too picky as long as they work.”

            “I’ll get some ballpoints as back-up,” Damon went on, tossing another couple of boxes into the cart. “They won’t dry up too fast.”

            Stefan picked up the small basket he’d used earlier. “Art supplies are right around the corner,” he pointed out. “I’ll grab the colored pencils and drawing paper.”

            Damon nodded absently. “I’ll meet you in electronics,” he agreed, pushing the cart away with some effort.

            Stefan tried to hurry to rejoin him; electronics weren’t really Damon’s forte. “How’s it going?” he prompted a few minutes later, depositing his load in the cart.

            “I picked out this camera,” Damon told him, handing him the demo model which was chained to the shelf. “They’re getting them from the back.”

            Stefan looked over the specs. “Yeah, this looks pretty good,” he agreed. Then he smirked as he saw what probably _really_ swayed his brother’s opinions. “Which colors did you get?”

            “Black, pink, blue, and orange,” Damon admitted. “They were out of silver.” Stefan expected he’d get the least-favored orange, then.

            A salesman hurried up to them. “I’ve got your cameras at the counter, Mr. Salvatore,” he said eagerly. “Can I help you with anything else?”

            Damon pointed at Stefan, who had already tossed memory cards and cases into the cart. “Let’s look at laptops,” he suggested. “Could we start getting checked out? You can deliver all this to our hotel, can’t you?”

            “The Mandarin Oriental, yes, sir,” the salesman—his name was Ted; who named their kids Ted anymore?—agreed, taking the cart from Damon. He had to apply considerable force to move it to the register.

            “Good idea,” Damon told Stefan, and Stefan decided he must be exhausted if he was giving compliments without even a snarky undertone. “I like this one,” he went on, pointing at one of the laptops before them in the next aisle.

            Big surprise, the Dell came in four colors. Stefan did a quick comparison with the other available systems and decided it would do for the moment. “Black, pink, blue, and red,” he noted, pulling four tickets from the shelf. “Convenient. I was thinking an all-in-one printer—“ he went on, indicating the next aisle.

            Damon blinked at him slowly. “Aren’t all printers all-in-one? What are they missing?”

            “It’s a printer, and a scanner, and a fax and a copier,” Stefan explained quickly, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “It’ll be useful for all the documents we have to fill out. Maybe I could just pick it out,” he offered.

            “Good. I’m gonna go look at the cell phones,” Damon responded, turning away. Stefan stifled a sigh and tried to choose a printer quickly; Damon picking out a cell phone wasn’t the ideal situation, given his limited knowledge of and interest in such devices. When the salesman found him again, Stefan handed him the additional tickets right away.

            “I’ll need two of each color print cartridge, and a case—a whole case—of printer paper,” he added. “About twenty pounds, standard white.” Ted nodded and hurried away, and Stefan threaded through the aisles to join Damon at the cell phone counter.

            “Andrea”—presumably the saleswoman at the register—“is preparing our contract,” Damon announced, then smirked at the poorly-concealed flash of alarm on Stefan’s face. “Relax, it’s only for three months. Then we can get something new.”

            “Those Android smartphones are nice,” Stefan hinted.

            “They’re like talking into a box of crayons,” Damon scoffed, a bit nonsensically. “I want something sleek and elegant, like Captain Kirk would use.”

            “Right, I forgot Captain Kirk was your idol,” Stefan remarked. And he wasn’t joking.

            “Do you want a colored… thing?” Damon offered, indicating the snap-on covers in the case below the counter. “I got Shoshana a pink one, with Swarovski crystals.”

            “Classy,” Stefan replied dryly. “Sure, I’ll take that black-and-white one for Elena.”

            Andrea printed off the contract and handed it over for Damon to sign as Stefan took charge of the actual phones and accessories. The sales staff were diligently running the rest of their items through the register and packaging them for delivery. “You wanna grab something to eat before we go back to the hotel?” Stefan suggested. “There’s a McDonald’s up the street.”

            “Yeah, that would be good.” Damon became very mellow when he was tired; Stefan felt slightly guilty about enjoying it. “Let the stuff get to the hotel room. I need some caffeine.”

            After a few more minutes they were able to pay for all their purchases—impressive as the bill was, it still paled in comparison to the one at Coach, to say nothing of Damon’s shopping spree at Thomas Pink—and then the two of them set off down the New York City street for McDonald’s. The sun was low on the horizon, casting long shadows from the skyscrapers that left them alternating between blazing orange light and inky darkness as they walked along, their eyes frequently forced to readjust. In some ways the city wasn’t very different from the place they’d come from—the noise, the energy, the mind-boggling diversity and creativity of people trying to find their niche in the world.

            But in other ways it was completely dissimilar—the material wealth, the sheer number of _things_ you could buy, places you could go, activities you could participate in. Damon made no secret of the fact that _that_ was why he wanted to come to New York; anyone could tell he was a poor fit for the mission of promoting anything other than himself. But Stefan came with him, and Stefan was a true believer; and Damon could muster considerable charm when he felt like it. He was definitely more the type to whisper in the ear of the state senator at a two hundred dollar-a-plate gala, while Stefan was out there on the ground among the ordinary people. Both types were needed.

            McDonald’s, of course, was a far cry from the luxurious apartment overlooking Central Park that Damon hoped to have soon. But everyone needed a ginormous cup of Coke and some hot, greasy, salty fries now and then.

            “These are _fantastic_ ,” Damon raved of the fries. “They are actually as good as they look in the commercials. Have one.” He offered a stubby, burnt one, the limit of his generosity.

            “That’s okay,” Stefan demurred. His hamburger was greasy enough, and he was trying to read over the cell phone contract Damon had signed. “Are you feeling better?” he asked solicitously. “More alert?” _He_ certainly was, the caffeine going straight to his brain.

            “What are you talking about?” Damon complained obliviously. “I feel fine.” He snagged Stefan’s milkshake and took a long slurp.

            Stefan rolled his eyes. “Good. So your feelings won’t be hurt when I tell you that you s--k at choosing cell phones.”

            “Whatever,” Damon laughed carelessly. “Don’t diss my Captain Kirk phone. Just set the Original Series theme as my ringtone.”

            “Well that would be a lot easier to do if you’d gotten an unlimited data plan,” Stefan pointed out, mildly exasperated.

            “Data is _Next Generation_ , not Original Series,” Damon responded. Stefan _thought_ he was making a joke. “Anyway, it’s only for three months. Then you can put right what once went wrong. That’s _Quantum Leap_ , by the way.”

            Another point in Damon’s favor was he loved sci-fi. _Actual_ science had always seemed less impressive in comparison, though. As in so many other things Stefan was the opposite.

            “So, Sephora tomorrow?” Stefan checked as he set up all the phones and put each others’ numbers in the directories. “What do we do while the girls are in there?”

            “Hugo Boss,” Damon said immediately. “I’m going to spend an _obscene_ amount of money there. Like, if you post this amount of money spent on Facebook, Grandma comments to say she’s praying for your soul.”

            Stefan snatched the giant Coke away from him. “I think you’ve had enough of _this_.”

            Damon grabbed his milkshake instead. “Then in the afternoon we can hang out at the hotel. Find a place for dinner, call the realtor, check in with the bank, put stuff away—We need some cars,” he decided. “And an awesome vacation house. Oh, and then the rings. Better call ahead to Tiffany’s.”

            It wasn’t that this was a bad list. It was a _great_ list. But Stefan wondered how much they would really accomplish. Or _should_ —they needed some downtime as well.

            “I wonder what the girls have been doing this afternoon,” he mused idly.

            “Scribbling their fingers to the bone, I hope,” Damon replied cheekily. “That cats-and-dragons story was really good, for being about cats and dragons.”

            “Elena likes to write more non-fiction,” Stefan reminded himself, prepared to not be reading much of it. “Journal entries, reviews, essays.”

            “Boring.”

            “She also writes fiction,” Stefan assured him. “Remember that sample story we read, about the little girl who lived in the abandoned house? It was really good.”

            “G-d, it was depressing,” Damon offered. “It made me want to go curl up in bed with a small furry animal for comfort.”

            “You might wanna have that checked out,” Stefan deadpanned.

            Suddenly Damon laughed. “And then Shoshana’s sample story was about those armless monkeys who lived on the moon and learned to wear watches on their ankles!” he recalled. “What kind of a cracked mind thinks of that? And who decides to put _that_ out as their sample?”

            “Worked for you,” Stefan pointed out with a smile.

            Damon did not acknowledge that. “Are you done with my phone?”

            Stefan handed over one of the shiny silver phones and Damon attempted to flip it open like Captain Kirk. It was only partially successful. “You shouldn’t actually do that,” Stefan cautioned. “You’ll damage it. Now to find the—“

            “I can figure it out,” Damon said with exasperation, so Stefan let him try. This at least led to silence for a little while.

            Then suddenly Stefan’s phone rang, displaying Damon as the caller. “Oh, good, you got it,” he commented, trying not to sound condescending.

            The phone kept ringing. “Answer it,” Damon insisted.

            Stefan sighed and opened the phone. “Hello.”

            “Are you ready to go?” Damon asked into his phone.

            “Yes,” Stefan agreed and hung up.

            Damon looked hurt. “You didn’t say good-bye!”

            Stefan rolled his eyes and picked up the remains of their meal, throwing the trash away. Damon stood by the table waiting for him and not helping. Then they both went back outside to hail a cab back to the hotel.

            “Did a bunch of packages from Staples come through here?” Damon asked the doormen in the street-level entry.

            “Oh, yes, sir, about half an hour ago,” the man confirmed. “We took them up to the main lobby.”

            “Great, thank you,” Stefan replied when Damon just turned away. He was back to normal now, at least. Stefan tipped the doormen as well, another little task his brother had delegated.

            “This is a d—n long elevator ride,” Damon complained as they rode upward. “And then we have to switch at the other lobby! I want an express elevator, directly to our room.”

            “That wouldn’t be very safe,” Stefan couldn’t help but point out. “The girls need to feel safe and secure to be creative. We should look for an apartment with a twenty-four-hour doorman.”

            Damon scoffed slightly. “It’s never a band of gunmen kicking down the front door,” he replied randomly. “It’s always the cleaning staff that you thought were legit who end up stealing stuff from you.”

            Stefan gave him a look. “Let’s not share that observation with the girls, okay?” he suggested, especially as Damon had likely just gleaned it from television.

            They exited into the ornate main lobby and stopped by the desk. “Packages from Borders and Staples?” Damon asked the man on duty abruptly, whose name was Manfredo. He assumed that by this point there was some sort of photo of him under the counter, so he didn’t bother identifying himself.

            This assumption seemed to be amazingly accurate. “Yes, Mr. Salvatore, we’ve sent them up to the Presidential Suite,” Manfredo confirmed, despite never having seen Damon before in person.

            “Great. Breakfast at seven,” Damon ordered. “Same stuff we had today.” Then they got on the elevator for the second time.

            The journey seemed even longer. “You’re gonna set up the computers tonight,” Damon checked idly.

            “Yes, I got accounts for the hotel wireless system earlier today,” Stefan confirmed, “so you’ll be able to use the Internet soon. And the girls can download all their stories from the Residence server.”

            Damon grimaced slightly. “Yeah, we have to find a way to type up all their new stuff, don’t we?” he remembered. He gave Stefan a speculative glance.

            “ _I’m_ not doing it,” Stefan declared firmly. “It’s tedious. That’s why _they_ don’t want to do it.”

            “But you’re so good at tedious things,” Damon cajoled. Stefan would not be swayed on this point, though. “Fine,” Damon agreed shortly, the easy route taken away from him. “Well, we can probably hire someone to do it. We could employ entire families in a typing sweatshop.”

            “Probably a couple of college students part-time would be sufficient,” Stefan estimated.

            “Well, I’m not gonna worry about it now,” Damon decided as they finally exited the elevator. “Remind me about it later.” He knew he could count on Stefan for _that_ , at least.

            Damon swiped his room key through the slot on the suite’s door and tried to open it, but it caught on the latch. Music blasted into the hall from within the room. “What the h—l,” he muttered in irritation. “Shoshana! Elena! Let us in!”

            “They’re just being safe,” Stefan pointed out, as Damon kept rattling the door.

            “Good soundproofing, anyway,” he noted, letting the door fall shut again.

            There was a noise on the other side of the door and then Elena opened it all the way for them, the music quieter than before. She was wearing the fluffy hotel bathrobe and her face was flushed. “Hi! Come in, sorry.”

            “Don’t be sorry, it’s a good precaution,” Stefan assured her as they entered. He bolted and latched the door again behind him.

            Damon was more concerned with Elena’s appearance. “Where’s Shoshana? Did we _interrupt anything_?” His voice was heavy with innuendo and hope.

            Instead Elena turned back over her shoulder and called, “It’s okay, you can turn the music back up!” Rock music suddenly blared out of the room’s expensive speaker system again. Before Damon could question her, she threw off her robe, revealing only a tank top and panties, and resumed gyrating wildly to the music. A moment later, Shoshana appeared from a bedroom, similarly attired and also dancing with abandon.

            Damon and Stefan stood frozen in place, staring with open mouths. “Dance with me!” Shoshana commanded, prancing over to Damon.

            “Okay,” he agreed immediately, dropping his leather jacket on a chair and pulling her into his arms. And people said he wasn’t adaptable. For his part Stefan set the phones he carried down and shrugged out of his jacket with Elena’s enthusiastic help, trying to keep up with her wild spinning and hip shaking.

            It was fun for a few minutes, absorbing the pulsing beat of the music and releasing it again by swinging, twitching, jumping, whatever they felt moved to do, without regard to proper form or how they looked to others. Both Stefan and Shoshana tended to be a little inhibited about dancing in public, but they had no such qualms here. It was even _more_ fun after Shoshana yanked Damon’s shirt off—it wasn’t difficult to see where this was all going.

            “Thank you for the books and paper and the beautiful pink bear!” she told Damon breathlessly, throwing her arms around his neck.

            “Um, you’re welcome,” he replied, slightly distracted by the nagging feeling that there was something _off_ here. Damon was not used to questioning scantily-clad dancing girls, however. “Wow, you’re all sweaty,” he observed tactlessly. “Let’s get you something to drink.” Still gyrating to the music Damon backed into the kitchen, drawing Shoshana with him, then turned and filled a glass of water for her. “Here, drink this.” Then he had to hold her still, because it was difficult to drink and dance at the same time. His eyes roamed idly around the kitchen as he waited for her to finish… and then he saw the garbage can.

            “Stefan,” Damon snapped, striding from the kitchen with Shoshana in one hand and the garbage can in the other. Stefan and Elena were awkwardly stretched across the couch, where she was attempting to remove his shirt while also kissing him. “Stefan!”

            His brother finally looked up with distracted annoyance and Damon turned the garbage can upside down. Out fell the color-coded wrappings of individual Lindt truffles.

            Dozens of them.

            “S—t,” Stefan responded with mild horror. He turned to look up at Elena as though fearing she would suddenly morph into a chocolate-fueled demon; instead she just yanked him down into an insistent kiss and tried to unbutton his pants.

            “Make sure she drinks some water,” Damon advised him.

            “I want to dance more!” Shoshana said, tugging on his arm, but Damon scooped her up over his shoulder and headed towards the master bedroom.

            “Come on, pretty girl, let’s go check out that two-person shower,” he countered. She did not object.

 

**

 

            Damon was watching the local late news on TV and listening to NPR on the radio, at a much lower volume than it had been playing earlier, when Stefan stumbled out of the second bedroom, barely wearing his jeans, his hair askew. For once Damon was the respectable-looking one in a t-shirt and pajama pants, and he smirked at the thought.

            “Are you _just now_ leaving her alone?” he cracked.

            Stefan dropped down on the couch beside him. “No, I fell asleep for a while,” he admitted, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

            “Are you awake now?”

            “I guess.”

            “Good. You gonna set up the computers?” Damon poked.

            Stefan sighed. “Yes, I will. Where are they?”

            “The study,” Damon replied, hoisting himself off the couch. Stefan followed slowly. “While you’ve been snoozing, I’ve been putting things away,” he boasted. “Thoughtfully, I didn’t touch _your_ clothes, because I didn’t want to interrupt you and Elena.”

            “That _was_ thoughtful,” Stefan agreed dryly.

            Though he had to admit he was impressed with Damon’s clean-up efforts once he got to the study. He could only imagine the chaos of bags and boxes in the room after the Borders and Staples goods had been sent up; the study had been the storage room of choice for all their other purchases of the day and had been crowded by lunchtime. Now, books and notepads were stacked neatly in the closet beside bags of pens and paperclip containers, while the four computers and the printer sat on the desks, still in their boxes, and there was actually room to walk around. Stefan suspected the girls had put their own clothes away after lunch, before they were distracted by the candy, but it was still a vast improvement.

            Damon commandeered one of the padded desk chairs and flipped the TV and radio on, as they had been in the living room, and flipped through Zagat’s restaurant guide as well. “Set up the black one first,” he told Stefan, who was already doing just that. Damon let him work for a couple minutes in peace. “So, the candy was not a good idea,” he finally said.

            “No, I’d have to agree with that,” Stefan responded. “Although they seemed… happy,” he added, remembering Elena’s bold and delightful behavior.

            “But how will they feel in the morning?” Damon wondered darkly. “There must be consequences.”

            Stefan was torn between agreeing that his brother had screwed up, and trying to make him feel better. “Well, now we know,” he said after a moment.

            Damon looked back over his shoulder, perhaps with a caustic remark about Stefan’s noncommittal response, but he changed his focus after he saw Stefan already working on the pink computer, with the black one open and idle. “Is it ready?” he asked in surprise.

            “No,” Stefan cautioned. “I just logged on to the Commission’s server and downloaded the remote access software. I’m installing that now.” He looked up and saw Damon’s blank expression. “That lets the Commission take over the computer and install their software on it for me, like the antivirus program. So I don’t have to do it myself.”

            “But can I use it yet?” That was all Damon cared about.

            “No,” Stefan replied, and Damon turned back around to watch TV. “Also, remember that everything you put on the computer will get backed up on the Commission’s server,” he added. “And people might see it. So don’t download any porn from the Internet or anything.”

            Damon scoffed at this. “But what if I want to _upload_ porn?” he asked innocently. “Maybe I could get the girls to recreate the candy dance on film.”

            Stefan rolled his eyes but trusted his point had been made. “Do you think Elena would rather have the blue computer, or the red one?” he asked Damon, opening the blue one next. He supposed he could set up accounts for both of them on both computers, then let her decide in the morning…

            “Blue would be the safer choice,” Damon opined. Stefan had to admit he was right about that and set her up with the blue. “When can we see all the older stuff they wrote?” he wanted to know.

            Stefan shook his head, although Damon wasn’t looking at him. “The girls have to log in to the Residence server themselves and download it,” he reminded his brother. “And we can only see what they let us see. They might not want us to access everything.”

            “Why not?” Damon complained immediately. “Well, maybe some of it isn’t very good.”

            “Maybe they just want to keep it to themselves,” Stefan countered pointedly.

            “They’re creative companions,” Damon stated flatly. “They aren’t _supposed_ to keep things to themselves.”

            “Well, it doesn’t matter if we can read it or not,” Stefan noted, trying not to get into (another) argument about this. “If they produce it, we still benefit.”

            Damon snorted but said nothing. Stefan hoped he wouldn’t upset the girls by insisting on reading everything they wrote—that would inhibit their creativity for sure. But he knew that sometimes Damon talked, or argued, big but didn’t follow up on it.

            There was a movement at the doorway and Shoshana stumbled in, dressed in her pajamas with her hair rumpled, clutching the pink bear. “Hey, Shoshana,” Stefan greeted, causing Damon to spin around in his chair. “You okay?”

            “No, I had a bad dream!” she complained. Damon pulled her down onto his lap, the chair groaning under their combined weight. “And then I woke up and I was all alone.”

            Damon felt the accusation in her tone but did not react with guilt. “Ohhh,” he replied, trying to sound sympathetic but not sure which words to use next. “What was your dream about?”

            “I was in an apartment looking down on a central courtyard,” Shoshana began readily, “and a bad woman was down there with a gun! She and her gang had taken over the building. She said that anyone who looked out the window or tried to do anything would be shot. Well, I crawled over to the window and tried to peek out, very carefully, and she saw me immediately and pointed at me and said my name! Then her gang came to my door and kicked it down and started shooting me!” Stefan had now turned away from the computers and was giving her his complete attention. “It didn’t really hurt, because I was magical and it couldn’t kill me. But I had to hold my breath and not move and _pretend_ to be dead, so they would go away. Then I could start sneaking around helping the resistance movement.”

            There was silence for a few moments after she finished speaking. “No more candy for you, ever,” Damon declared. Shoshana did not seem overly distressed about this, perhaps because she really didn’t believe it. “Do you write your dreams down? Does that count?” He hadn’t considered that they might generate creative energy while they slept, or at least obtain more creative ideas to write down.

            Shoshana yawned and tried to burrow more into Damon. “I don’t usually write them down anymore,” she told him. “I forget them unless I do it right away. And they make so much less sense on paper than they did in my head.”

            Damon was not willing to lose creative energy to this logistical difficulty. “Well, from now on I want you to write your dreams down,” he decided. He poked and pushed until she stood up, a whine of protest in the back of her throat, then he stood as well and went over to the closet, rifling around in the bags. Shoshana swayed unsteadily, looking like she was contemplating just lying down on the floor and going back to sleep. Then Damon turned around and presented her with a bound notebook. It was an exotic shade of pink with some kind of semi-abstract peacock design picked out in sparkles, and her eyes immediately widened.

            “Oh, it’s so beautiful!” she exclaimed. “I don’t remember seeing it before.” The candy frenzy had apparently blinded her to even a notebook, which was saying a lot.

            He handed her a pen as well. “Now I want you to write down your dreams in here,” Damon explained. “Keep it next to your bed and do it right when you wake up.”

            “Okay, I’ll try,” Shoshana agreed.

            “Good. I expect to see one every day,” Damon warned, perhaps too ambitiously. “Let’s put you back to bed now,” he went on, leading her from the room. “Would you like to sleep with Elena? That way you won’t be alone.”

            “Goodnight, Shoshana,” Stefan called after them.

            “Goodnight, Stefan!”

            A few minutes later Damon returned and resumed his position in the desk chair, watching the news and listening to the radio. “Is it ready yet?” he asked of his computer.

            “No,” Stefan replied without checking. He finished working on the red laptop—his own—and then rolled back to the black one to examine it. Indeed, the Commission IT people were still working on it, the mouse pointer racing around the screen in a slightly unsettling manner, as if a ghost were operating it. His attention strayed to the TV, though he tried to keep an eye on the computer screens in case he needed to do anything.


End file.
